How d'you get a cold in May? Bah. That's bank holidays for you. And therefore, belated bloggings. Before coming down with the dreaded lurgi, I managed to see the following:
1. Cyrano de Bergerac at the Bristol Old Vic. I'm an ex-Ragueneau myself (Student Theatre, c. 2002) and had joked to my workmates on Friday afternoon that I'd be judging the show by Exeter University's high standards. Ah, wouldn't you know it?
The script was a new translation by Ranjit Bolt. This, I didn't object to; all credit to Ranjit Bolt. Some of his colloquialisms sounded a bit odd in context, but many others worked extremely well, and (whisper it!) I think overall I like his text slightly more than the Anthony Burgess translation. (Mmm, tastes like heresy.)
Some of the staging... there were one or two odd decisions, although we could generally see what some of the more abstract stuff was about. However, I'd been watching the 17th century story of Cyrano de B and was deeply surprised when Roxane and Ragueneau turned up at the front line in Act 4 on a motorbike and sidecar. The Lovely Jo, meanwhile, had twigged from the costumes in the first half that the director had set this production around the time of World War One and was deeply surprised when the Comte de Guiche, leader of a French regiment still fighting Spaniards, turned up in Act 4 in his 17th century shiny breastplate and lace collar. (Which time period? There's only one way to settle this - fight!)
The acting was a bit variable. Cyrano gabbled his lines during the first half, but settled down a bit and came across well in the second half. Roxane was good but (in Jo's words) "a bit horsey", as opposed to the thoroughly natural Roxane who'd starred in the old student production. The rest of the main cast was solid, but prone to impenetrable accents, all of them different. But all of these were watchable, and by and large good. Even some cheeky musical work in Ragueneau's shop in Act 2 that I can only envy. The only real stand-out problem was the Comte de Guiche, the lord of chronoclasm. We could both tell in the first half that he was putting on some kind of voice. It sounded like it might have been continental - surely not someone actually trying a French accent? Yet at times it sounded more Spanish. It wasn't until he really turned up the dial in the now legendary Act 4 that I finally twigged what was going on - he was trying to channel Keith Allen's Sheriff of Nottingham. Trying, and failing. It came out more like the Italian officer from 'Allo 'Allo with the body language of Rik in The Young Ones.
Still, a pleasant evening in the tiny, tiny Old Vic with its doll's-house seats. Even at the back of the stalls we had a good view of all the action on the stage, some fifteen metres away.
2. Human Nature. At last, an episode of new Who that we can stand up and salute! Series 3 has finally hit its stride. A very tennish 9, or a ninish 10, but as ever I may reconsider this in the light of the second part. So far the signs are good - I wouldn't say it's on a par with The Girl in the Fireplace yet, although next week could change that, but it's certainly up there with Father's Day and The Empty Child. It is, however, the most complete episode after Fireplace - the muted woody colours, the gentle music, the cinematography, the sets, costumes and performances all working together in that rare and special way.
So far it compares well to the novel, too. I'm one of the large mass of Who fans that feels Human Nature (book) was the best of the Virgin novels, but there is much in the book that wouldn't work so well on TV (not to mention the change of leads), and by and large I feel the alterations have improved the story. It's much tighter now. The Doctor has a clearer and more pressing reason for becoming human (in the book, it seemed to be a mix of trying to understand his companion and wanting to find out more about himself - almost a whim, really). Serious Tennant makes a much more credible pre-war public school teacher than goofy McCoy (even the text version). The romance with Joan Redfern is a bit more whirlwind than in the book, where we're asked to accept that they've been socialising for two months between chapters, but her unsubtle hints and that excellent cricket ball scene make John Smith's sudden burst of self-confidence work so well on screen.
The fob watch is such a perfect cipher for the Doctor's true identity (that completeness again...) that it's hard to believe in retrospect that the book didn't do it the same way. However, that leads to one of my two (only two!) slight concerns with the episode. (And the good news is that they really are slight - for once this series, they're "What?" rather than "What the hell?!") Since when did the Doctor have a biology-shuffling helmet dangling from the TARDIS ceiling, and if it's been there all this time, why hasn't he used it on any of the many potentially useful occasions in the past? (Although with a name like "chameleon arch" (cf "chameleon circuit") we can perhaps retrofit it into the show as some kind of emergency Time Lord regenerative aid. But I'm flailing a bit there. This is one point where the book beats the episode, by simply having the Doctor disappear for an hour at a market and turn up sweating and holding the McGuffin with his real self in it.) My other slight concern is the scarecrows. They're not in the book and they're not properly set up in the episode. They're "the soldiers" - but what does that really tell us? Are they real scarecrows that've been taken over in some way, and if so, how? Or are they something the Family brought with them, in which case, why are they stationed in the fields and disguised as scarecrows rather than stored in the spaceship? But it's a minor point when the Family can comfortably carry the monster duties on their own.
On which note, a word of praise for Harry "Baines" Lloyd and his remarkably flexible face. I couldn't believe it when it was pointed out to me that he'd been the bland, unremarkable Will Scarlett in the recent Robin Hood series. I'm now inclined to believe that he'd been acting bland and unremarkable, since his performance here is quite the opposite.
So overall it's shaping up to be a good two-parter.
3. Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At World's End. Mmm, pirate surrealism. For all that this was yet more pulpy action on the high seas, it was worth a third outing to see Johnny Depp take his role past odd and into downright weird. Poor old Cthulhoid cap'n Davy Jones didn't quite get the send-off I was hoping he'd get after all that build-up, but at least hissable capitalist Lord Beckett did, standing and gibbering quietly as his ship was turned into matchwood. Still, I'd watch it again just for the surreal bits.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
"Don't they teach recreational mathematics any more?"
Well, that was better again. Like The Lazarus Experiment, 42 was slam-bang action fare with much running up and down corridors, but it scores more highly by dropping us right into the action from the off, by having a final ten minutes that didn't just feel tacked on, and by having some very nice visual effects. Yes, Doctor Who is a show that shouldn't rely on CGI, but the silent shot of Martha drifting away in an escape pod was very fine. And y'know, the more I look back on it the more I realise just how much of this episode was just running up and down corridors (my word, really quite a lot of it...), but the point is that this is the first episode in about a month that I've wanted to look back on after first viewing.
Even the science wasn't screamingly, disturbingly wrong. I mean, you have to accept that, unlike yer regular suns, living suns can actually reverse the effects of their enormous gravitational field and push away ships that are about to smash right into them, but I'm prepared to do that. The episode actually looked coherent. So really, my only question is: Who are you, and what have you done with the real Chris Chibnall?
(Actually, you could see just a hint of Torchwood Chibnall in the scene where, instead of suddenly exclaiming "You humans, you're amazingly brilliant!" as he normally does, the Doctor suddenly exclaims "You humans, you're rapacious bastards!" But I digress.)
7 out of 10. Points for the possessed crewman turning people into Hiroshima shadows with his mad glowing eyes.
Minus points for the tiresome "Burn with me" refrain ("Are you my Mummy?" it ain't).
For the first few minutes (and off the back of the trailer), I thought this had all the signs of being a sequel to last year's Impossible Planet/Satan Pit, and 42 almost got relief points just for not featuring the return of the most absurdly pretentious monster ever to appear in Who. (But then I sobered up a bit and thought better of it. If I rated stories on that basis, I'd be giving bonus points to every Who episode that doesn't feature yet more Daleks. Hey, wait a minute, I already do that...)
Points for the Doctor admitting he's scared. The Lovely Jo made a very perceptive remark about this: he's not scared that he'll die (he'll risk his life at the drop of a hat, after all), he's scared that if he dies he'll come back as a sun-zombie and kill Martha. Points also for the idea of the living sun and the sun-zombies (although if it mattered that much to me I'd list here previous films and TV shows that have featured sentient celestial bodies - including old episodes of Who).
Points for Martha's mum selling her out to Mr Saxon's phone-tappers. Overall it's another step upwards.
Even the science wasn't screamingly, disturbingly wrong. I mean, you have to accept that, unlike yer regular suns, living suns can actually reverse the effects of their enormous gravitational field and push away ships that are about to smash right into them, but I'm prepared to do that. The episode actually looked coherent. So really, my only question is: Who are you, and what have you done with the real Chris Chibnall?
(Actually, you could see just a hint of Torchwood Chibnall in the scene where, instead of suddenly exclaiming "You humans, you're amazingly brilliant!" as he normally does, the Doctor suddenly exclaims "You humans, you're rapacious bastards!" But I digress.)
7 out of 10. Points for the possessed crewman turning people into Hiroshima shadows with his mad glowing eyes.
Minus points for the tiresome "Burn with me" refrain ("Are you my Mummy?" it ain't).
For the first few minutes (and off the back of the trailer), I thought this had all the signs of being a sequel to last year's Impossible Planet/Satan Pit, and 42 almost got relief points just for not featuring the return of the most absurdly pretentious monster ever to appear in Who. (But then I sobered up a bit and thought better of it. If I rated stories on that basis, I'd be giving bonus points to every Who episode that doesn't feature yet more Daleks. Hey, wait a minute, I already do that...)
Points for the Doctor admitting he's scared. The Lovely Jo made a very perceptive remark about this: he's not scared that he'll die (he'll risk his life at the drop of a hat, after all), he's scared that if he dies he'll come back as a sun-zombie and kill Martha. Points also for the idea of the living sun and the sun-zombies (although if it mattered that much to me I'd list here previous films and TV shows that have featured sentient celestial bodies - including old episodes of Who).
Points for Martha's mum selling her out to Mr Saxon's phone-tappers. Overall it's another step upwards.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
SUDDENLY...! The other big event today: Comics Expo in the heart of Bristol. Well, maybe not quite the heart, down by Bristol Temple Meads. Perhaps more like the liver.
Got there early enough for freebies, and hooray, they certainly justify both the price of entry and getting out of bed at 7.30am on a Saturday. The freebie bag included a big wad of recyclable junk, two honest-to-goodness full graphic novels, two free comics, two plastic figurines and a whole bunch of other stuff too. One of the plastic figurines is Hellboy; I don't recognise Really Big Hair Flying Spear-Throwing Goat Man, but in the absence of any other evidence perhaps I should assume he's one of Hellboy's adversaries.
The two free comics are, naturally, one DC and one Marvel. The DC one reheats the origins of the Justice League of America, while the Marvel one is a prequel to the forthcoming Transformers film. So DC are falling back on their old laurels, while Marvel are confidently looking forward to the next big thing. (The psychology of free comics there, ladies and gentlemen.) As a DC Vertigo man, I don't know what (if anything) I should make of this.
Having earlier saved some money on pre-booked tickets to London for a stag do next month, I felt justified in indulging in a spot of Comic Book Mayhem in the dealers' room. Saw the mighty Brian Talbot selling and signing his new work, Alice in Sunderland, a book I'd forgotten about. An almost obligatory purchase, really. It's a chunky doorstop of a book, and the clue's in the title - it's a look at the fantastic side of Sunderland. Not that I'm suggesting regular, everyday Sunderland isn't fantastic, but... oh... thsssspp. Also bought three TPBs at discount prices:
Jack of Fables, vol 1. The Fables spin-off.
Albion. Does for old Beano, Whizzer & Chips, Beezer etc characters what 'The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen' did for the protagonists of Victorian fiction. I'd looked at this, thought twice about it, but thought again when I saw it with a couple of quid knocked off.
Battle Pope, vol 1. Oh yes. Pure impulse buy. It'd just be wrong of me to walk past a comic called Battle Pope. Pittard, if you're reading this, you need to see this beauty. Image have already published at least three volumes of this; vol 3 has the best blurb: "Everyone knows there's only one thing Battle Pope enjoys more than beating up ornery demons, and that's making sweet love to the ladies". Thought I'd better take it from vol 1, though. I did toy with going back into the dealers' room to buy vols 2 and 3 as well, but by an extreme effort of will I went to the pub instead. Strength of character, folks, that's what I'm talking about.
Nice to see: Paul Cornell, who also sat on a panel that Sarah and I went to see, and who kindly invited us to join his posse for lunch; Mags Halliday and her beau Mark, plus several of their friends; Christina and Doug.
Sad to miss: One of the higher-up members of my department at AXA, who I believe was planning to pop down first thing and trawl for old issues of Starlord before heading off to attend to other things. If he went, he must have gone early.
Weird highlight of the day: When someone at the pub recognised the badge I was wearing - a small red card sign saying "I have an incorrect width", cannibalised from a shelf at the supermarket - because they'd done exactly the same thing. It's found art, that's my excuse.
Got there early enough for freebies, and hooray, they certainly justify both the price of entry and getting out of bed at 7.30am on a Saturday. The freebie bag included a big wad of recyclable junk, two honest-to-goodness full graphic novels, two free comics, two plastic figurines and a whole bunch of other stuff too. One of the plastic figurines is Hellboy; I don't recognise Really Big Hair Flying Spear-Throwing Goat Man, but in the absence of any other evidence perhaps I should assume he's one of Hellboy's adversaries.
The two free comics are, naturally, one DC and one Marvel. The DC one reheats the origins of the Justice League of America, while the Marvel one is a prequel to the forthcoming Transformers film. So DC are falling back on their old laurels, while Marvel are confidently looking forward to the next big thing. (The psychology of free comics there, ladies and gentlemen.) As a DC Vertigo man, I don't know what (if anything) I should make of this.
Having earlier saved some money on pre-booked tickets to London for a stag do next month, I felt justified in indulging in a spot of Comic Book Mayhem in the dealers' room. Saw the mighty Brian Talbot selling and signing his new work, Alice in Sunderland, a book I'd forgotten about. An almost obligatory purchase, really. It's a chunky doorstop of a book, and the clue's in the title - it's a look at the fantastic side of Sunderland. Not that I'm suggesting regular, everyday Sunderland isn't fantastic, but... oh... thsssspp. Also bought three TPBs at discount prices:
Jack of Fables, vol 1. The Fables spin-off.
Albion. Does for old Beano, Whizzer & Chips, Beezer etc characters what 'The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen' did for the protagonists of Victorian fiction. I'd looked at this, thought twice about it, but thought again when I saw it with a couple of quid knocked off.
Battle Pope, vol 1. Oh yes. Pure impulse buy. It'd just be wrong of me to walk past a comic called Battle Pope. Pittard, if you're reading this, you need to see this beauty. Image have already published at least three volumes of this; vol 3 has the best blurb: "Everyone knows there's only one thing Battle Pope enjoys more than beating up ornery demons, and that's making sweet love to the ladies". Thought I'd better take it from vol 1, though. I did toy with going back into the dealers' room to buy vols 2 and 3 as well, but by an extreme effort of will I went to the pub instead. Strength of character, folks, that's what I'm talking about.
Nice to see: Paul Cornell, who also sat on a panel that Sarah and I went to see, and who kindly invited us to join his posse for lunch; Mags Halliday and her beau Mark, plus several of their friends; Christina and Doug.
Sad to miss: One of the higher-up members of my department at AXA, who I believe was planning to pop down first thing and trawl for old issues of Starlord before heading off to attend to other things. If he went, he must have gone early.
Weird highlight of the day: When someone at the pub recognised the badge I was wearing - a small red card sign saying "I have an incorrect width", cannibalised from a shelf at the supermarket - because they'd done exactly the same thing. It's found art, that's my excuse.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
I bet you they won't play this song on the radio
Once again the Eurovision Song Contest has come and gone, and left bewilderment in its wake. With The Lovely Jo off with university friends camping in Wales, of all things, I had no alternative but to watch it. That's my excuse, anyway. Much more cheese but far fewer fatalities than its gangsta rap equivalent, the Eurovizzle Song Shenizzle. (Incidentally, that's pronounced "chenille" - this is the reason why so many interior designers are killed in drive-by shootings. It's all a terrible misunderstanding.)
I took field notes of the specimens on display, so that the final result wouldn't come as a complete surprise. Naturally it still did. First, let it pass that the presenters were bad. The presenters are always bad. The pink fairy third presenter was very, very, very, extremely, horrifically bad, but let that pass too. Soon your mind will scab over the mental wounds, as mine is already beginning to do. Highly amusing film inserts - full marks to Finland for these. My, there are quite a few goths in Finland, aren't there?
Final thing to say at the outset: after last year's leftfield win by a horror-themed hard rock band - Eurovision's all-time high point, in my opinion - it was to be expected that there'd be a few attempts to tap into that winning vibe this year. (Even the interval act seemed determined to cash in, presenting the customary acrobats and so on but with a very hard-rocking trio of long-haired, head-banging cellists and a phalanx of "alternative culture" fire jugglers. Made the Cirque du Soleil look like the Cirque d'Alan Bennett, I can tell you.) Although the imitators wouldn't go so far as to have Satan on guitar and the Mummy on keyboards, settling instead for a generic gothy-ish-esque female lead and a slightly heavier bass line. Anyway, here were my thoughts on the contest as it unfolded:
Bosnia-Herzegovina. Unless I've lost my touch at second-guessing Eastern European languages based on Russian (the overlap must be close to 90%, surely), the song's title translates as "River Without a Name". The choreography sees four water-nymphs swaying a bit while the singer duets with a lutenist from the French Foreign Legion. A bit limp, but inoffensive.
Spain. Oh, it's Los Bambinos Backstreet. Hack shit. Is there a key change? Of course there is. Can the band sing in the higher key? Of course they can't.
Belarus. Sung in English. It's some kind of musical arrangement of a David Copperfield show. Somewhat bizarre. The singer's voice is... regrettable.
Ireland. Oh begorrah, we're just lovable simple cheery rustic Oirish folk, so we are, to be sure. Rather nasal voice on the singer. Poor effort.
Finland. Sung in English. Looks like Elvira, albeit more tastefully dressed. This'll be an attempt to ride the coattails of last year's winner, then. Although it is actually a pretty good alternative pop/rock number.
FYR Macedonia. Points for singing predominantly in their own language. Sadly all I could make out was a chorus of "Niner niner niner, niner niner niner". Passable.
Slovenia. See Finland. Elvira again, but with an interesting new operatic angle. I have to admit I like it. Damn, so far the only ones I like are the half-hearted female goth acts. Not sure what/how/if this reflects on me at all.
Hungary. Sung in English. Hey, a blues song! Points for this novelty. More points for not using any explosives on stage. Singer's a bit too shouty though. And what the hell is the Bus Stop sign all about?
Lithuania. Sung in English. Again, no resorting to explosives, so points here. I like it, and I like it well. Tiny female singer/guitarist in her shiny silvery jacket. Bongos and many guitars - kind of a Latin lounge flavour. Strange to see the backing band only in silhouette, until you consider that they're actually even tinier than the singer and have to be positioned way backstage, right in front of a lightbulb, just so that the audience can see them.
Greece. Sung in English. Did I hear the word "Lord-a-mercy" in the chorus? A bad Ricky Martin clone. The dancers seem to be doing some strange mix of limbo dancing and sumo stomping. Burns my ears and my eyes.
Georgia. Possibly sung in English, although it's a bit hard to tell at times. Appears to be a Georgian version of Charlotte Church with an orange permatan, backed by techno Cossacks. The song's... Bjorkish. Very Bjorkish. Not entirely horrendous.
Sweden. Sung in English. What the hell's this? Glam rock? With psychedelic back projection? Get with the picture, daddio! The lead looks like Marc Bolan, and the song sounds like everything Marc Bolan ever sang.
France. Sung in Franglais. Jolly bon, vieux chap. Is that Richard O'Brien on backing vocals? Stone me, is that Anthony Worral-Thompson on drums?! Not good in any technical sense, and yet I strangely like it...
Latvia. Sung in... Italian? Oh look, they've hired Il Divo to represent them, or so it would appear. Top hats and dress shirts all round. Verdict: hum-ho.
Russia. Sung in English. What's this, Puritan sorority rock chicks? My immediate thought: The Worst Witch meets Britney Spears. And indeed, the song sounds uncannily like "Oops I Did It Again".
Germany. Mmm, jaaaaazz club. Nnnnnice. Swing with a trumpet and a sax and everything. Yes, this is what Eurovision has been waiting for! Sounds fantastic. My surefire tip for the laurels.
Serbia. Blimey, Harry Potter's let himself go a bit. Bland in the extreme.
Ukraine. Sung in some sort of pan-European Babel. What. The feck. Was that? Good ol' Terry Wogan got straight in there with the references to Christopher Biggins, but let me just add that if you dressed Elton John as a silver Christmas tree and made him perform something by the Pet Shop Boys, it might not look unlike this. Truly, the biggest mindfeck of the evening. Dada points: over there. Musical points: nul. Unless Europe goes for the novelty vote again.
UK. Is it Steps, the Vengaboys or the opening routine from The High Life? The one who looks particularly like Alan Cumming seems to be delivering his cheap doubles entendres with unnecessary venom. He's scaring me. He really looks angry.
Romania. Sung in everyone else's language but their own. Bloody hell, there's Richard O'Brien again. A hideous patchwork mess of a song. A shambling Frankenstein's pop monster.
Bulgaria. Comes on like Dead Can Dance. Develops into something more like "Open Up" by Leftfield. And then it's percussion a-go-go. Not too shabby at all - I'd expect to see it place in the top ten, but possibly not the top five.
Turkey. Sung in English. Is that Garry Bushell? Is he singing "I'm telling you now"? It's... curiously acceptable.
Armenia. Sung in English. Enrique Iglesias sings on the set of Waiting For Godot. Woops, you've smeared chocolate on your shirt there, mate. Hard to take seriously.
Moldova. Sung in English. A violin! Wahey! Another act making a half-hearted effort to tap the gothy/rocky/Lordi vibe, although it starts to look a bit bad when the singer's black-and-white dreadlocks turn out to be a wig. Stone me, though, she can actually sing. And well.
Interesting to note that only seven of the acts from non-Anglophone countries sang predominantly in their own language. I'm a bit surprised the French act got their Franglais past the censors, to be honest - the Academie Francaise used to be a bit draconian about this sort of thing. But anyway.
My predicted top five: Germany, Lithuania, Slovenia, Finland, Moldova. The actual top five: Serbia, Ukraine, Russia, Turkey, Bulgaria. How did Germany not even appear in the top five, with such clear talent? How did they end up 19th?! How did the vote go to Serbia's bland Harry Potter? It does seem as though the accession of more Baltic states to the EU, coupled with the familiar old Eurovision block voting, is having some effect here, but even so. Germany, 19th? Indeed, not one of my predictions appeared in the top five, and of the actual five I only cared for 4th and 5th place. Dammit, I remind myself that the Brotherhood Of Man's "Save Your Kisses For Me" won this contest once, and I know that the moral victory is mine...
Edit: Astonishing follow-up news. Malta reveal that their mysterious douze points for the UK (well, I did wonder) was a protest vote. Doesn't that just make it worse, knowing that our entry's biggest supporter didn't mean it? (Still leaves us ahead of Ireland, who gave us more points than they received from the rest of Europe, but it does mean that in principle the camp Frenchmen beat our camp airline stewards.) Meanwhile, according to Paul Gambaccini, everyone else protests by not voting for the UK. I'm just not convinced about this - the UK's entries for the last few years have been bad enough to fail on their own merits, without blaming it all on politics.
I took field notes of the specimens on display, so that the final result wouldn't come as a complete surprise. Naturally it still did. First, let it pass that the presenters were bad. The presenters are always bad. The pink fairy third presenter was very, very, very, extremely, horrifically bad, but let that pass too. Soon your mind will scab over the mental wounds, as mine is already beginning to do. Highly amusing film inserts - full marks to Finland for these. My, there are quite a few goths in Finland, aren't there?
Final thing to say at the outset: after last year's leftfield win by a horror-themed hard rock band - Eurovision's all-time high point, in my opinion - it was to be expected that there'd be a few attempts to tap into that winning vibe this year. (Even the interval act seemed determined to cash in, presenting the customary acrobats and so on but with a very hard-rocking trio of long-haired, head-banging cellists and a phalanx of "alternative culture" fire jugglers. Made the Cirque du Soleil look like the Cirque d'Alan Bennett, I can tell you.) Although the imitators wouldn't go so far as to have Satan on guitar and the Mummy on keyboards, settling instead for a generic gothy-ish-esque female lead and a slightly heavier bass line. Anyway, here were my thoughts on the contest as it unfolded:
Bosnia-Herzegovina. Unless I've lost my touch at second-guessing Eastern European languages based on Russian (the overlap must be close to 90%, surely), the song's title translates as "River Without a Name". The choreography sees four water-nymphs swaying a bit while the singer duets with a lutenist from the French Foreign Legion. A bit limp, but inoffensive.
Spain. Oh, it's Los Bambinos Backstreet. Hack shit. Is there a key change? Of course there is. Can the band sing in the higher key? Of course they can't.
Belarus. Sung in English. It's some kind of musical arrangement of a David Copperfield show. Somewhat bizarre. The singer's voice is... regrettable.
Ireland. Oh begorrah, we're just lovable simple cheery rustic Oirish folk, so we are, to be sure. Rather nasal voice on the singer. Poor effort.
Finland. Sung in English. Looks like Elvira, albeit more tastefully dressed. This'll be an attempt to ride the coattails of last year's winner, then. Although it is actually a pretty good alternative pop/rock number.
FYR Macedonia. Points for singing predominantly in their own language. Sadly all I could make out was a chorus of "Niner niner niner, niner niner niner". Passable.
Slovenia. See Finland. Elvira again, but with an interesting new operatic angle. I have to admit I like it. Damn, so far the only ones I like are the half-hearted female goth acts. Not sure what/how/if this reflects on me at all.
Hungary. Sung in English. Hey, a blues song! Points for this novelty. More points for not using any explosives on stage. Singer's a bit too shouty though. And what the hell is the Bus Stop sign all about?
Lithuania. Sung in English. Again, no resorting to explosives, so points here. I like it, and I like it well. Tiny female singer/guitarist in her shiny silvery jacket. Bongos and many guitars - kind of a Latin lounge flavour. Strange to see the backing band only in silhouette, until you consider that they're actually even tinier than the singer and have to be positioned way backstage, right in front of a lightbulb, just so that the audience can see them.
Greece. Sung in English. Did I hear the word "Lord-a-mercy" in the chorus? A bad Ricky Martin clone. The dancers seem to be doing some strange mix of limbo dancing and sumo stomping. Burns my ears and my eyes.
Georgia. Possibly sung in English, although it's a bit hard to tell at times. Appears to be a Georgian version of Charlotte Church with an orange permatan, backed by techno Cossacks. The song's... Bjorkish. Very Bjorkish. Not entirely horrendous.
Sweden. Sung in English. What the hell's this? Glam rock? With psychedelic back projection? Get with the picture, daddio! The lead looks like Marc Bolan, and the song sounds like everything Marc Bolan ever sang.
France. Sung in Franglais. Jolly bon, vieux chap. Is that Richard O'Brien on backing vocals? Stone me, is that Anthony Worral-Thompson on drums?! Not good in any technical sense, and yet I strangely like it...
Latvia. Sung in... Italian? Oh look, they've hired Il Divo to represent them, or so it would appear. Top hats and dress shirts all round. Verdict: hum-ho.
Russia. Sung in English. What's this, Puritan sorority rock chicks? My immediate thought: The Worst Witch meets Britney Spears. And indeed, the song sounds uncannily like "Oops I Did It Again".
Germany. Mmm, jaaaaazz club. Nnnnnice. Swing with a trumpet and a sax and everything. Yes, this is what Eurovision has been waiting for! Sounds fantastic. My surefire tip for the laurels.
Serbia. Blimey, Harry Potter's let himself go a bit. Bland in the extreme.
Ukraine. Sung in some sort of pan-European Babel. What. The feck. Was that? Good ol' Terry Wogan got straight in there with the references to Christopher Biggins, but let me just add that if you dressed Elton John as a silver Christmas tree and made him perform something by the Pet Shop Boys, it might not look unlike this. Truly, the biggest mindfeck of the evening. Dada points: over there. Musical points: nul. Unless Europe goes for the novelty vote again.
UK. Is it Steps, the Vengaboys or the opening routine from The High Life? The one who looks particularly like Alan Cumming seems to be delivering his cheap doubles entendres with unnecessary venom. He's scaring me. He really looks angry.
Romania. Sung in everyone else's language but their own. Bloody hell, there's Richard O'Brien again. A hideous patchwork mess of a song. A shambling Frankenstein's pop monster.
Bulgaria. Comes on like Dead Can Dance. Develops into something more like "Open Up" by Leftfield. And then it's percussion a-go-go. Not too shabby at all - I'd expect to see it place in the top ten, but possibly not the top five.
Turkey. Sung in English. Is that Garry Bushell? Is he singing "I'm telling you now"? It's... curiously acceptable.
Armenia. Sung in English. Enrique Iglesias sings on the set of Waiting For Godot. Woops, you've smeared chocolate on your shirt there, mate. Hard to take seriously.
Moldova. Sung in English. A violin! Wahey! Another act making a half-hearted effort to tap the gothy/rocky/Lordi vibe, although it starts to look a bit bad when the singer's black-and-white dreadlocks turn out to be a wig. Stone me, though, she can actually sing. And well.
Interesting to note that only seven of the acts from non-Anglophone countries sang predominantly in their own language. I'm a bit surprised the French act got their Franglais past the censors, to be honest - the Academie Francaise used to be a bit draconian about this sort of thing. But anyway.
My predicted top five: Germany, Lithuania, Slovenia, Finland, Moldova. The actual top five: Serbia, Ukraine, Russia, Turkey, Bulgaria. How did Germany not even appear in the top five, with such clear talent? How did they end up 19th?! How did the vote go to Serbia's bland Harry Potter? It does seem as though the accession of more Baltic states to the EU, coupled with the familiar old Eurovision block voting, is having some effect here, but even so. Germany, 19th? Indeed, not one of my predictions appeared in the top five, and of the actual five I only cared for 4th and 5th place. Dammit, I remind myself that the Brotherhood Of Man's "Save Your Kisses For Me" won this contest once, and I know that the moral victory is mine...
Edit: Astonishing follow-up news. Malta reveal that their mysterious douze points for the UK (well, I did wonder) was a protest vote. Doesn't that just make it worse, knowing that our entry's biggest supporter didn't mean it? (Still leaves us ahead of Ireland, who gave us more points than they received from the rest of Europe, but it does mean that in principle the camp Frenchmen beat our camp airline stewards.) Meanwhile, according to Paul Gambaccini, everyone else protests by not voting for the UK. I'm just not convinced about this - the UK's entries for the last few years have been bad enough to fail on their own merits, without blaming it all on politics.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
"James Bond?! ...really?"
How many films contributed their electrically transmitted DNA to this week's Who?
Viewers who think too much might ponder an episode of DW that shows the dehumanising horrors of science brought to heel in a church, but perhaps there really is nothing more to it than a Quatermass reference. Would've been nice if the Lazarus monster had looked like it had been drawn from the dormant bits of human DNA, and not from bits of just any old terrestrial DNA (to think, Confidential suggests the original design would have been even more of a spurious mix of animal bits). Apparently we're this far from being giant scorpions - the stinging tail, the mandibles, the external skeleton, the extra legs... the ability to suck the life right out of people? In its favour, the genetic science in this episode may have been cock-eyed again, but it was still better than last week. At least there was some effort to explain it all that sounded half convincing.
Still, two things save The Lazarus Experiment from being a mediocre knockabout action story with a big old CGI monster. One is the acting, with no obvious weak links and some pretty good bastard acting from Mark Gatiss. The other is the script, which was excellent (apart from some of the soliloquising in the cathedral, which got a bit ripe in places).
Thing is, a solid middling story like this would have looked like gold in the first half of Series 1, or rejigged as an episode of Torchwood. In the third year of New Who, it looks like 6 out of 10. But we're halfway into Series 3 now - when is it going to turn it up to 11? It was excusable for Series 1 to take a while to find its feet, but by this time last year we'd had The Girl in the Fireplace, a werewolf and ninja monks vs the heat-packin' Queen Victoria and two episodes of meaty, shiny, good-looking Cyberman action. The last month and a half pales by comparison. And we've got two weeks to mull that over while Who steps aside for Eurovision. Still, the rest of the series looks like seven weeks of continuous winners, if the trailer is to be believed.
- The James Bond films, obviously
- The Fly (for the capsule)
- The Quatermass Experiment (for the title, and ending up in a cathedral)
- This Is Spinal Tap (for going up to 11)
- Predator/Blade 2 (for the monster's split jaw)
- Lost In Space (for the rest of the monster's body)
- Relic (I'm told - for the monster being some sort of human throwback/sidestep)
- And of course, for a CG face unconvincingly slapped onto the front of an inhuman body, The Lawnmower Man and its close cousins, the pop videos of Peter Gabriel.
Viewers who think too much might ponder an episode of DW that shows the dehumanising horrors of science brought to heel in a church, but perhaps there really is nothing more to it than a Quatermass reference. Would've been nice if the Lazarus monster had looked like it had been drawn from the dormant bits of human DNA, and not from bits of just any old terrestrial DNA (to think, Confidential suggests the original design would have been even more of a spurious mix of animal bits). Apparently we're this far from being giant scorpions - the stinging tail, the mandibles, the external skeleton, the extra legs... the ability to suck the life right out of people? In its favour, the genetic science in this episode may have been cock-eyed again, but it was still better than last week. At least there was some effort to explain it all that sounded half convincing.
Still, two things save The Lazarus Experiment from being a mediocre knockabout action story with a big old CGI monster. One is the acting, with no obvious weak links and some pretty good bastard acting from Mark Gatiss. The other is the script, which was excellent (apart from some of the soliloquising in the cathedral, which got a bit ripe in places).
Thing is, a solid middling story like this would have looked like gold in the first half of Series 1, or rejigged as an episode of Torchwood. In the third year of New Who, it looks like 6 out of 10. But we're halfway into Series 3 now - when is it going to turn it up to 11? It was excusable for Series 1 to take a while to find its feet, but by this time last year we'd had The Girl in the Fireplace, a werewolf and ninja monks vs the heat-packin' Queen Victoria and two episodes of meaty, shiny, good-looking Cyberman action. The last month and a half pales by comparison. And we've got two weeks to mull that over while Who steps aside for Eurovision. Still, the rest of the series looks like seven weeks of continuous winners, if the trailer is to be believed.
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